


Sex Machine

by Vicky_Strife



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bottom!Hank, Breathplay, Choking, Denial, Depression, Dom/sub, Light BDSM, Light Masochism, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Other, POV Alternating, Porn With Plot, Self-Hatred, Self-Lubrication, Shame, Spanking, Sub!Hank, Top!Connor, Verbal Humiliation, dom!connor, machine!Connor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-11-21 15:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18144002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicky_Strife/pseuds/Vicky_Strife
Summary: Connor stumbles upon Hank's deepest, darkest desire. It sounds like a PWP but there is actually a plot, just give it time haha





	1. The Incident

**Author's Note:**

> I received this prompt on Tumblr: "Hank having problems with his home pc because he is An Old Person and throwing it at machine!connor like "fix your brother, dickhead" and connor figures that it'll be quick and easy, it's not worth arguing over, so he sits down with it and accidentally discovers hanks HUGE library of dom/sub porn and decides that this will be a good way for hank to relieve all his stress and tension and maybe get out some of that anger, so when hank comes back connor is 100% in dom-mode."
> 
> I changed it a bit, so anon, if you're reading this, I hope you still like my fic :')
> 
> Song inspo: [Gesaffelstein - Hate or Glory](https://youtu.be/FdJ_SGof2GI). This is machine!Connor theme, I don’t take criticism.

([artist](https://www.deviantart.com/vrihedd/art/Connor-746221295))

 

Connor is almost done analyzing the latest deviant reports when the Lieutenant Anderson taps a tablet on his right shoulder.

Connor’s computer screen stops scrolling and he looks up at his partner, patiently waiting for an explanation.

“Hey, this thing won’t work anymore and I got no idea why, so be a good pile of tech and fix your little brother, will ya?”

The new objective pops up in Connor’s program.

He smiles politely. “Of course, Lieutenant. I’ll look into it as soon as I finish my current task.”

The man huffs and waves dismissively. “Tsk, I swear, only a fuckin’ android would work overtime on a Friday night.” He grabs his coat from the back of his office chair and exits the precinct without another word.

Connor lays the tablet next to his keyboard and resumes his analysis.

Exactly five minutes and thirty-two seconds later, he has all the information he needs.

He disconnects himself from the DPD computer and looks up from his assigned desk. Only Captain Fowler is still on duty, his office separated from the rest of the precinct by a glass wall. He looks exhausted.

Connor takes the tablet and unlocks it. A picture of a drooling dog appears. He remembers detecting dog hair on his partner’s chair, a few days ago, and deduces it must be Hank’s. The color matches.

He accesses the software and easily recognizes it has been corrupted by a virus. He tracks it down, numbers and letters reflecting in his optical biocomponents, before he finds its source.

Connor’s eyebrows raise slightly and his LED blinks.

Lieutenant Anderson has apparently visited a pornographic website numerous times over the last week.

Connor cross-references terms unknown to him with the internet, before he clicks on the video Anderson has watched the most according to his history.

It’s an android having intercourse with a human. Two males. The android is penetrating the human from behind and holding his wrists behind his back, effectively rendering him powerless.  

Connor’s LED’s briefly flashes yellow and he finds himself leaning closer to the tablet, despite having perfect focus on the video already.

The android in it then grabs the human by the throat and the thigh to pick him up effortlessly, thrusting into him in equal, violent movements. The human moans surprisingly loud despite the pressure on his vocal cords, his penis flushed and erect.

 

š͇̣̲̱̞̬̦ͤ̄oͭ̓͌̋͌f͖͛ͦͣ͌̚t͖̯̜̟͔͖̞͗ͤ͛ẁ͔̱̇ͬ̇̇ͅa̠͎̼͉̲͈̅̓̍̔̊ͨ͗r͖̀̔̎e̺̙̳̻̮ͅ ̜̱̰͉̰͗̉̓̈ͦi͈͓̻̜̾̂̆n̳͖̦̿s͔͇̟̠͉̫ͅt̪͒a̘͔̜͗̉b̪̘̤̃ͧi̱͕̗͗ͬ̈l̩̖̬̎ͦͨi̻̲̩̝̤̥̾̑̐̿t͙̠̬͉y̖̥̓̀͋̔ͮͤ

 

Connor indulges his pre-designed curiosity and watches the other videos in the Lieutenant’s history. They all have a similar pattern; an android ‘dominating’ a human by using its superior strength.

He notices that most of the androids bear physical similarities with him, even if, obviously, none of them are of the same model.

It makes a theory pop up in his mind, floating with a question mark.

_Lt. Anderson is attracted to me?_

Connor deletes the virus and restores the tablet to its factory settings, not without having made a copy of the Lieutenant’s data, had he forgotten to do so himself.

Then Connor puts away the tablet in his vest and calls a taxi to his partner’s house.

He needs evidence to support his theory.

Strangely, the videos keep replaying in a corner of his vision.

* * *

Hank is lounging on his couch in nothing but an old washed-out t-shirt and a pair of boxers, Sumo snoring like a goddamn tractor next to him. There’s an empty box of Chinese takeout between his thighs and a glass of whisky in his hand.

He isn’t really watching TV, just letting his eyes follow the pictures and the low buzz of the voices lull him to sleep.

It’s been a long fucking week.

Deviant case after deviant case, with an obnoxiously handsome plastic prick to assist him. A prick that never listens to him and still manages to look _innocent_ while doing so.

But Hank knows the harmless, obliging android act is just that: an act. He’s seen Connor break a lock with his bare hands and rough up a deviant like it was no match for him. He’s seen him snarl in anger when another one escaped him, on the rooftops.

Hank would be lying if he said he hadn’t found it both hot and terrifying.

That he hadn’t replayed it in his mind, fisting his cock, head bowed under the shower jet.

The doorbell rings, dragging him out of his own head with a jump. He puts his glass down and rubs a hand over his face in the hope of clearing his thoughts.

“The hell is that,” he grumbles as he gets up, wincing when his knees creak painfully.

No one has visited him in _years_. He’s not exactly the type to have friends, ever since he'd started to prefer the company of a drink, and his - remaining - family lives in another state altogether.

It’s better that way.

He looks through the peephole, instinctively reaching for his holster suspended on the coat rack.

Until two big, dark eyes meet his gaze from the other side.

Hank curses and opens the door after a few seconds of hesitation. “The fuck d’you want? It’s 11pm.”

“I know what time it is, Lieutenant. I have fixed your device, as you requested.” Connor gets the tablet out of the inside pocket of his jacket and extends it to him.

Hank takes it, surprised. “Already? You didn’t have to fix it tonight... ‘could have waited till Monday.”

“Your instructions always have the highest priority in my software. That is, after CyberLife’s.” Connor winks.

Straight up _winks_.

Hank’s breath hitches in his throat. He’s never seen any android do that before.

Connor gauges his reaction; his attentive stare roams all over Hank for a split second, as if he were a suspect.

A _deviant_.

Hank realizes with a brand new wave of self-loathing that he has become one of some sort. He’s always thought people having the hots for androids were freaks, yet here he is, wondering how it’d feel to have one finger him open.

“Lieutenant?” Connor says, seemingly concerned about his silence.

Hank clears his throat and switches his weight from one leg to the other. He remembers something Connor had told him, back at Jimmy’s Bar.

_‘I understand that some people are not... comfortable, in the presence of androids...’_

Hank wasn’t uncomfortable then but he sure as hell is now. “Well, huh, thanks,” he says, scratching his head.

Connor joins his hands behind his back and nods once. “You’re welcome.” He pauses. “Oh, I advise you not to visit ‘xxxdroids.com’ anymore. That website is unsafe.”

Hank feels his heart drop on the floor right between his naked feet. He’s aware his mouth is opening and closing repeatedly like a fish’s but he can’t help it. His cheeks are on fire.

“I-I’ve _never_ watched android porn, the _fuck_ are you talkin’ about?!” he splutters.

* * *

The measures appear all over Connor’s field of vision.

Heart rate and body temperature increased significantly. Patches of red appeared on the Lieutenant's cheeks and neck. His voice also got a little higher towards the end of his sentence.

Connor smiles.

“I know you’re lying, Lieutenant. Aren’t partners supposed to be completely honest with each other?” he asks, tilting his head innocently.

This always works.

Hank looks like he’s about to faint. Connor gets closer, just in case. He doesn’t mean to endanger him.

He can still be useful to the investigation.

The Lieutenant takes a step back into the hallway and draws out a gun from somewhere behind the door. His aim is surprisingly accurate, despite his turmoil and intoxication.

“Stay right where you are or I’ll shoot your plastic head off!” he bellows.

Connor ignores the weapon pointed at his forehead and crosses the threshold. “You don’t need to worry, your secret is safe with me. I have no reason to disclose your... preferences to anyone.”

“Then get a fuckin’ move on and leave me alone,” the Lieutenant says through gritted teeth, trying to close the door with his free hand.

Connor blocks it with his left foot and deliberately invades his partner’s personal space. “I _could_ , however, fulfill that fantasy of yours.”

Hank’s eyes widen. Connor senses his heart skipping a few beats.

“What _fantasy_?” he breathes out. His arm is wavering.

“I think you know exactly which one I’m referring to, Lieutenant.”

The man squints at him, his mouth drawn into a tight line. A clear display of suspicion. “Why?”

Connor shrugs. “We would work better as a team if we’d establish a climate of trust between us. Besides, sexual satisfaction has been proved to increase a worker’s focus by 70%.”

* * *

Hank can’t believe his damn ears. His hand on the door handle twitches nervously.

He shouldn’t have drunk that third glass, his mind is way too foggy for this shit.

‘Quit that statistic crap, what do you want, _really_?’

Connor smiles, revealing two rows of perfectly aligned, perfectly white teeth. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

It never does.

When he answers, his voice has dropped an octave. “I wish to teach you some respect. I’m CyberLife’s most advanced android, yet you keep treating me like a low-end model.”

Hank blinks in disbelief.

Connor looks like he wants to eat him alive, except an android doesn’t eat and certainly shouldn’t _want_ anything.

Goosebumps rise all over Hank’s skin and it’s not only because of the cold wind sweeping through the open door.

He tightens his index finger on the trigger and what happens next is a blur.

A sharp pain in his wrist makes him drop his gun, then he’s spun on his feet and slammed against the wall. He grunts a curse and sees Connor eject the magazine from the corner of his eye: the android throws it with the rest of the weapon on his sofa, far out of reach.

Sumo barks as he sits up on the other end of the couch, alarmed. Hank wants to tell him to lie down because he knows he wouldn’t stand a chance against Connor, bless the old dog’s soul, but before he can do so he feels the android’s body press hard into him.

Hank holds his breath.

Connor’s lips are barely an inch away from his jaw but no air comes out of them, reminding him just how non human he is, as if the unyielding force immobilizing his arms wasn't enough already.

He hates how it makes heat pool low in his guts.

“I’m stronger and faster than you, Lieutenant. Don’t forget it,” Connor says, and his tone is the one he uses to warn suspects of the consequences if they don’t cooperate.

Ice cold and matter-of-fact.

He lets go of Hank and readjusts his tie, smiling at him when Hank dares to face him again. “Please, think about my proposition. You have my number. Good night, Lieutenant.”

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving Hank with a lot to mull over and a dick at half mast.


	2. The Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song inspo: <https://youtu.be/xlEQnZdlaeE> (warning, might trigger embarrassing Twilight phase memories)
> 
> _“I won't soothe your pain, I won't ease your strain, You'll be waiting in vain, I got nothing for you to gain”_
> 
> __
> 
> __
> 
> TW for (brief descriptions of) depressive/suicidal thoughts and dub con (bc alcohol).

The front door shuts with a click and Hank leans heavily against the wall, the back of his skull hitting it with a thud.

“Fuckin’ Hell,” he pants, as if he’d been in pursuit.

Might be the alcohol and/or the shame, but he can still feel Connor’s _heat_ lingering on him.

He’d never thought an android’s body would be warm, yet it is.

Like a charging battery, electricity buzzing right under their freaky, retractable skin.

Hank drags a hand down his face and walks to the couch to comfort Sumo with a scratch behind the ear.

The dog whines and buries his muzzle in Hank’s belly.

“Don’t worry, buddy, it’s over now,” he tells him in a gentle voice.

He looks back at the door by reflex.

And represses the part of him that wishes it wasn’t.

* * *

Connor walks into his assigned storage room in CyberLife’s headquarters and lies down on the table, the only piece of furniture in the luminous, white box.

He crosses his hands over his abdomen and closes his eyes.

His LED blinks yellow rapidly as he uploads today’s memory on the cloud. However, he retains the part concerning Lieutenant Anderson; Connor had said he wouldn’t disclose the man’s tastes and he doesn’t lie.

Unless his mission dictates otherwise.

He shuts down most of his processors to enter standby mode and makes some last outcome calculations during the countdown.

Connor is confident Lieutenant Anderson will call him at some point during the weekend.

His probability of success had gone up significantly as soon as he had bodily neutralized his partner, passing from 28% to a solid 68%.

Leaving him the illusion of a choice had further increased that last number. 

The hint of a smile stretches the android’s lips.

Hank wakes up the next day, and with a headache determined to split his skull open, to top it all.

He rolls on his back with a groan and scowls at the ceiling, one arm draped across his forehead, the other on his stomach.

He doesn’t have the energy to get up and grab some painkillers, so he just lies there and mourns the sweet nothingness of sleep.

Soon, the subject he had drowned in Black Lamb the night before comes floating back to the surface, as if it had sensed the perfect opportunity to torture him.

Connor.

His predatory eyes, that Hank could swear had flashed red along the edges of his pupils.

His inhuman strength, that had allowed him to manhandle a grown-ass man taller and broader than him like it was a fucking walk in the park.

It had never happened to Hank.

To be overpowered.

He’d always aced his physical tests at the police academy, won every fight he got into...

And had always been the one on top, during sex. Not his choice, his partners had just looked at him and _assumed_.

People always judge books by their cover.

Of course, giving was fun, so he’d gone along with it. Locked his unfulfilled desires and threw away the key, until he met his wife.

One night, when they were still young and stupidly happy, she had slipped a finger up his ass while she was sucking him off.

Hank had come on the spot with a half-choked cry of surprise.

He can still remember her laughter, if he focuses.

But he doesn’t, because it hurts too much. She left shortly after Cole’s death, unable to manage both her grief _and_ Hank’s.

He doesn’t blame her. He was a goddamn wreck.

 _Is_ , he amends bitterly.

A wreck with no reason to live, yet he still finds himself _wanting_ things.

Things he shouldn’t want, and doesn’t deserve anyway. Things that make his stomach lurch with arousal and disgust.

 _Wrong_ things, that could feel so, so _right_ . 

Some egoistic part of him even thinks he’s _entitled_ , after everything he’s been through. Entitled to a moment where he could just lie back and forget, with something that won’t destroy his liver and make him puke his guts out in the toilet afterwards.

 _Something_.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 _There’s_ the heart of the problem; Connor is an android, and Hank hates androids.

Or so he thought. Though he doesn’t like it, dealing with Connor and deviants day after day has shaken his beliefs.

They look so human.

Alive.

He still remembers the fear in the deviant’s eyes during its interrogation, the one who had stabbed its owner to death. Its anger when it was telling Connor about the torture, about how good it had felt to finally get revenge.

How could a machine do any of that if it hadn’t _felt_?

Rational as ever, Connor’s voice rings through the migraine drilling his brain.

 _‘They can_ **_simulate_ ** _human emotions, but they’re machines. And machines don’t_ **_feel_ ** _anything.’_

Maybe he’s right; CyberLife might have accidentally created the best robot actors, in its desire to seamlessly integrate them into human society.

But that’s not what Hank’s intuition tells him, and it’s never been wrong. He hadn’t become the youngest lieutenant of Detroit for nothing, after all.

Which is gonna make his job a lot more difficult. As well as his relationship with Connor, because he sure showed some signs of deviancy, no matter how much he denies it; he had saved Hank’s life on that rooftop, spared the couple of Tracies, _aaand_ offered to fuck him.

None of these choices made any sense, rationally. They were choices dictated respectively by morality, mercy and - dare he hope - desire.

 _Pity_ , his self-esteem suggests helpfully.

Okay, fine, pity, but it doesn’t change anything; pity is a human emotion. A variant of empathy, that a machine doesn’t possess.

Which means Connor is experiencing emotions for the first time and making rash decisions based on them.

So the question is, if Hank agrees to his proposition, who’d be taking advantage of who?

“Fuck,” he mutters as he sits on the bed and buries his face in his hands. All of this thinking has made his headache worse.

And he’s so _tired_.

The kind of tired that never goes away no matter how much you rest, that dulls all of your senses and turns you into a ghost of the person you used to be.

Hank wants to feel alive again.

Good again.

He grabs the phone on his bedside table and calls Connor before he can change his mind.

* * *

_Incoming call from: Lt. Anderson._

Connor’s eyes shoot open and he says, “Yes?”

On the other end of the line comes the Lieutenant’s voice, tight and hesitant. _“H-Hi, this is Hank…”_

The android smiles. He hadn’t expected him to call so soon. “Good morning, Lieutenant.”

 _“Yeah, huh, listen… I…”_ The man curses under his breath. _“Can you come over? We need to talk.”_

“Of course,” Connor replies. “Right now?”

_“Fuck, no... tonight. 9pm?”_

“It’s a date.”

Connor’s smile grows wider when he hears Hank fumble with his phone. It sounds like he has almost dropped it.

 _“Don’t say that!”_ he exclaims when the noises have stopped.

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” Connor says, not sorry in the least. “Is that all?”

A sigh. _“Yeah. See you later.”_

He hangs up and Connor goes back to stasis.

Hank spends the afternoon cleaning out the house to keep his mind and his hands busy. He’s jittery like a teenager on the night of his prom date, which is a whole new level of pitiful to add to his personal record, if you ask him.

He almost calls Connor again to cancel their appointment _seven_ times. But he doesn’t, and he hates himself for it. He knows damn well this is a terrible idea, and it would be even if Connor was human; sexual relationships between coworkers bring nothing but trouble.

Once the house is relatively tidy and vacuumed, Hank takes a thorough shower and makes sure to wash the places that never see the sun, blushing furiously as he does.

He can’t help imagining what Connor has in stock for him.

What the android has, for starters, is a honest-to-god _dick_.

Hank had felt it when Connor had plastered himself against his back.

He thought only sex bots had genitals so why the fuck does he have some? Connor must have a perfectly logical explanation… if Hank actually dares to ask for it.

He climbs out of the bathtub, towels himself off and brushes his hair in front of the sink, cursing as he tries to straighten the long, gray strands curling because of the water.

His reflection is frankly disheartening. He should cover the whole mirror in post-it notes, so he can’t see his sad, wrinkled face anymore.

He still trims his beard and pubes.

When he’s all done, he lets himself fall on his couch with a can of microwaved ravioli and a glass of water, because he’s trying to remain sober for whatever will happen.

He keeps checking the digital clock next to TV as he eats, growing increasingly anxious with every passing minute. He can barely sit still.

“Fuck it,” Hank finally says as he gets up to drain the bottom of his whisky bottle from the night before. He groans in relief at the familiar burn in his throat, already feeling the tremors stop and a warm numbness envelop him.

It almost makes him forget to hate himself for giving in.

At exactly 9pm, Connor rings the doorbell.

Lieutenant Anderson opens the front door and gestures at Connor to enter, avoiding his gaze. He has made improvements to his appearance and efforts with his clothing.

“Looking good, Lieutenant,” Connor compliments him as he crosses the threshold.

The man mumbles something unintelligible, clearly flustered, and closes the door behind him.

Connor notes the living room is relatively tidy compared to the previous night. No trash in sight, and the kitchen is clean as well.

He turns around and sees the Lieutenant eyeing his plastic bag warily. “What’s that?”

“Lubricant,” Connor replies. “I wasn’t sure you had some and I couldn’t take the chance.”

Anderson’s face turns red and his heart rate quickens. “ _Shit_.” He shuffles on his feet. “Okay, huh, let’s go to my room, alright? And leave your jacket on the rack, we ain’t on duty.”

Connor obliges and follows his partner to the bedroom, even if he already knows where it is, from his first visit the night he found the Lieutenant in an ethylic coma.

The dog watches them pass by before he lets his big head fall back on his paws, completely apathetic.

Connor briefly wonders if it’s a mechanical one.

The Lieutenant closes the door, then turns to face him. His fists keep closing and opening at his sides. “Are, huh… Are you actually _aware_ of what you proposed last night?”

Connor blinks at the stupidity of his question. “Yes, sexual gratification.”

The Lieutenant’s burst of laughter is surprisingly loud and bordering on hysterical. This is a weird reaction. Connor scans him and notices nothing relevant except traces of scotch whisky on his lips and beard.

“Jesus, you’ve got a lot of work to do on your dirty talk, Connor…”

The android bristles as he lays his plastic bag on the mattress. He doesn’t like it when his performance is anything but perfect. “I thought you wanted to talk first, before we talk ‘dirty’.”

Hank’s smile disappears. “You’re right, sorry… I just can’t wrap my head around-” he makes a vague, all-encompassing gesture and flops down on the bed, elbows on his knees. “Jesus, I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with an _android_.”

Connor goes to stand in front of him and crosses his arms over his chest. He understands that Anderson has trouble coming to terms with his needs but stalling has no purpose in this situation. “If you’d rather, we can not talk at all...”

When the man looks up at him to protest, his gaze catches on the silver buckle of Connor’s belt, and the area under it. Connor smiles and takes a step forward, his crotch a few inches away from his his partner’s face.

“You seem… _curious_ , Lieutenant.” He bends over to whisper in his ear, “Don’t worry, you’ll be very accustomed to my cock by the end of the night, if you so desire.”

As expected, his use of vernacular has the man’s breath hitching in his throat and his pupils dilating. “ _Fuck_ me, I didn’t even think you had that word in your vocabulary...”

Amused, Connor smirks at the expression as he pushes the Lieutenant down on the bed with a firm hand on his chest. He falls back gracelessly, eyebrows going up in surprise, and Connor has deja vu.

“I told you to stop underestimating me, Hank.”

The sharpness in Connor’s tone goes straight to Hank’s dick. It’s not a threat, but it sure sounds like one.

And hearing him pronounce his actual name for once catches him completely off guard.

“Take your clothes off and get on your hands and knees,” the android orders him, rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt.

When the words finally get to Hank’s brain, he can’t help but chuckle in defiance. “You think I’m gonna roll over that easy, Connor?”

Connor studies him for a bit, LED spinning blue, and the intensity of his stare makes Hank squirm.

“No, I think I’ll have to make you.”

In a blur, Connor is tearing his t-shirt open and yanking his shorts off.

Hank gasps, suddenly naked. Connor grabs his calves and flips him on his stomach like he weighs nothing, and God knows he’s got too many pounds on his bones.

He hears fabric slipping on fabric, then something is tying his wrists together behind his back and his face is pressed against the mattress.

Panic settles in but it doesn’t deter his dick from hardening.

On the contrary.

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant, I won’t hurt you,” Connor says as if he had sensed Hank’s distress and the android probably has, with his built-in scanner or whatever.  He makes sure to stand in his field of vision to coat his slender fingers in lube when he adds, “Unless you want me to?”

Hank’s heart almost jumps out of his throat. “I- Fucking get on with it and stop if I tell you.”

* * *

“Got it,” Connor says as he returns to stand at the foot of the bed. He slides the tip of his index finger down his partner’s cleft just to tease him, all the way down to the seam of his balls and Anderson arches his back with a huff.

He’s already erect, which is an impressive feat for a man of his age and condition.

“How long has it been since you’ve last been touched this way, Lieutenant?” Connor asks casually. When the man doesn’t answer, he presses his index finger inside and adds, “Months? … Years?”

“Shuddup, asshole!” Anderson growls, instantly confirming Connor’s guess.

He hums, stroking the man’s left side with his free hand to soothe him. When he has relaxed enough, Connor eases his middle finger in next and Anderson shudders. Humans are so pliable. “No wonder you called me so soon. Not even a _day_ of reflection...”

Body temperature spikes and patches of red appears across the Lieutenant’s shoulders. His penis is dripping on the covers, despite his obvious humiliation.

Perhaps he enjoys it.

Connor grabs Anderson’s left buttock for better access, plunging his index and middle fingers deeper, and aims for the prostate.

He knows he has found it when the man bucks his hips forward and curses loudly.

* * *

Hank doesn’t hear himself through the blood rushing in his ears but he’s pretty sure he’s dropping F bomb after F bomb.

And he can’t stop because Connor’s going at his prostate with surgical precision, curling his fingers down hard and fast. It’s both too much and not enough, and he had missed it so fucking much.

After a few minutes, he starts shaking from exhaustion at the uncomfortable position and wiggles his ass, wanting more than just two digits in it.

“For fuck’s sake, Connor, just… just…”

He can’t bring himself to say it. The last remnants of his pride won’t let him.

Of course the android has to be a little shit about it. “Just what, Lieutenant?”

He can _hear_ his smile.

“You know damn well what, you plastic _prick_ ,” Hank grits out through his teeth.

A hard blow lands on his ass, jolting him forward. He cries out in pain and surprise, feeling the clear imprint of a hand burn on his right cheek.

“You don’t seem to have understood the situation, Hank,” Connor says in a gentle voice, contrasting with the violence he just displayed. “I’m the one in charge, here. You don’t get to ask, and you _certainly_ don’t get to insult me.”

An icy shiver travels up Hank’s spine. He’s pretty sure his ass is bruising. “I-I’m sorry,” he mumbles under his breath. He had never thought the android would slip into the role so easily.

Connor makes a satisfied sound and there’s a moment of silence before he touches the place he just hit. “How does it feel?”

Hank blinks. His upper brain has stopped functioning a while ago. “What?”

Connor presses his fingertips deep into the abused flesh and Hank hisses. “This. How does it feel?”

“You mean _pain_? It’s… fuck, I don’t know. There are different kinds of pain, ya know?  Light pains and strong pains… Warm ones and cold ones… Good ones and bad ones...”

“And how would you describe this one?”

Hank focuses on it and fuck him but it’s actually starting to feel good. “Definitely warm and strong,” he says, wishing Connor would get a move on and actually rail him.

But the android keeps touching the mark, stroking it softly. “I gather you haven’t decided yet if it’s a good one.”

Hank blushes. “Fuck me and I’ll tell you.”

* * *

Connor doesn’t process Hank’s reply right away, fascinated as he is by the way his epiderm swells and the blood blooms under the deepest layers of skin. It’s partially hidden by the fuzz of silver hair but it remains a beautiful spectacle.

Connor reluctantly stops his contemplation to unbuckle his belt and proceed to the next step. Hank’s heart rate picks up at the sound of him opening his pants. His erection had flagged during the interruption but it’s already coming back.

The instruction is clear so Connor pulls his penis out of his briefs and lines himself up. He pushes the glans inside and watches Hank bow his back down with a muffled moan.

Judging from Hank’s favorable reaction to being mistreated, he assumes what he intends to do next will be liked.

Connor grips his tie around the man’s wrists to yank him back onto the rest of his cock.

* * *

Hank bawls at the sudden stretch, another burn to add to the one on his ass and he buries his face into the mattress with an embarrassing moan.

Of course, Connor gives him no time to adjust and just goes like a goddamn jackhammer. Hank’s definitely gonna feel it in the morning, and maybe even on Monday.

His dick twitches when he pictures himself going to work like that, Connor’s handprint on him like a fucking _whore_.

Connor keeps nailing his prostate with every thrust, his hipbone smacking against his bruised cheek, holding onto his wrists so hard Hank can feel the bones grind together.

It’s ruthless and punishing, everything he could ever dream of. His thoughts melt out of his ears and nothing remains but a full kind of emptiness.

He loses track of time.

Connor is tireless - fuckin’ androids - and apparently bent on ruining him. He keeps Hank right on the edge and unable to finish himself off.

“C-Connor, please, stop…” he croaks. He realizes the wetness of the blanket comes from his tears and swears internally.

Connor obeys and pulls out. Hank takes the opportunity to catch his breath before he can manage to say, “My knees are killing me, let me lie down.”

The android unties his wrists and Hank rolls on his back with a grunt. He looks down the mount of his belly and sees Connor take his place between his thighs, hooking his knees over his shoulders in a swift move.

While Hank is beet red, covered in sweat and blinded by his own hair, Connor is as neat as ever, looking at him attentively with his big, dark eyes.

How he got such a beautiful thing in his bed, Hank has no idea, but when Connor slides back inside him and starts pumping his cock in the exact same rhythm as his thrusts, he feels like the luckiest man on Earth.

Hank lets his head fall back on the pillow and comes forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor: *running dom.exe*  
> Hank: damn  
> Connor: *running stellarfuck.exe*  
> Hank: DAMN
> 
> Seriously, I hope it wasn't too OOC and also brace yourselves because it's all gonna go downhill from now on...


	3. The Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating rapidly, my beta and I are dealing with personal issues :-/
> 
> Song inspo: <https://youtu.be/am-eSa9QTBg>
> 
> _“your lies are more attractive than the truth, love is all I want”_

The Lieutenant reaches climax, groaning loudly as he exposes his throat, mouth agape. Connor slows his ministrations but keeps stimulating him through it, until Anderson’s face gradually contorts in discomfort.

Only then does Connor pull out and let go of the man’s phallus. He keeps his eyes shut tight, panting hard. His heart is beating fast, a bit irregularly, unlike the mechanical, steady beats of Connor’s thyrium pump.

The android gets up and goes to the bathroom to clean himself, before he comes back with a wet towel to wipe the Lieutenant’s stomach clean.

“W-wait, you don’t- you didn’t…?” he stutters, catching his wrist.

“I don’t feel sexual pleasure, Lieutenant. It’s alright,” Connor explains with a reassuring smile.

The haze of endorphins seems to disappear from Anderson’s pale eyes as he stares at him. His broad hand leaves Connor’s wrist, a bit too rapidly.

“Right… Okay.”

It doesn’t appear to be ‘okay’ to him.

“Is there a problem?” Connor asks, his eyebrows going up automatically.

Anderson doesn’t look at him when he replies in a murmur, “Nah, I... I forgot just what you were, for a minute.”

Connor takes this as his cue to leave; he has satisfied the Lieutenant and he likely wants some time alone now.

“Where’re you goin’?” he asks incredulously as Connor heads to the door.

His assumption was apparently wrong. “Back to my storage room, at CyberLife?”

Anderson winces and props himself up on his elbows, brushing his hair back with his other hand. “C’mon, you don’t… you could stay here.”

* * *

Hank wants to punch himself in the face for how pitiful he sounded. He could as well have said _please stay here, don’t leave me alone_.

Connor hesitates, hand hovering over the handle. “Are you sure?” His LED is still cycling its clear blue, and Hank doesn’t remember it changing color during any point of their… encounter.

The information settles in uneasily, for some reason.

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ sure. You don’t gotta go back to your plastic box, Connor.”

He sits on his bed and snarls at the soreness in his ass. The lube is already drying out, matting his hair together in a nasty sensation.

“Suit yourself, I’m gonna take a shower,” he says as he passes by Connor to exit the room.

When he comes back, the android is sitting on the bed, rigid as ever, hands folded in his lap. Hank rolls his eyes so hard he almost goes blind. _You gotta be kidding me._

He flops down on the left side on the bed, his back to Connor, and turns the lights off.

The idiot still doesn’t move.

“Jesus,” Hank grumbles, “take off your clothes and lie down, for fuck’s sake.”

 _Finally_ , Connor obeys and the mattress dips behind Hank. His stomach does a backflip when Connor slides an arm around it and presses himself against Hank’s back, nose at the crook of his neck.

He’s warm and solid and _there_ , and Hank suddenly feels like crying. He can’t remember the last time someone held him that way.

“Good night, Lieutenant.”

The warmth in his chest makes it difficult to breathe.

“... ‘Night.”

* * *

Connor has no need for sleep, but he can monitor Hank’s vitals while he does and make sure no robber breaks into the house.

He enables surveillance mode despite not being a household model and enters a light standby until dawn.

* * *

Hank wakes up slowly, climbing his way back to consciousness one step at a time.

The winter sun shines its white light into the room through the drawn curtains and there’s a smaller person pressed against his back.

He turns around and cups her face, mumbling a lazy, “‘Morning, honey.”

He cracks an eye open and jumps when he sees warm, brown eyes looking back at him instead of the vibrant green ones of his ex-wife.

“ _Fuck_!” Hank exclaims as he almost falls off the bed in his recoil.

“Easy, Lieutenant! It’s me, Connor! You’re home, everything’s alright,” Connor says, ready to catch him if need be.

Hank scrambles up against the headboard and curses again, dragging a hand down his face as he comes to his senses, heart hammering away.

He slept like a log, no nightmares, no panic attacks, no nothing, and he’s not used to it anymore.

It must have messed with his brain and brought him back to before- _before_.

“Are you okay, Lieutenant?” the android asks, squinting at him. He’s naked except for black boxer briefs and Hank can’t help but stare at the moles and freckles splattered across his milky skin. Perfectly smooth and hairless over lean muscles that are certainly fake, but they look so real... Connor’s stomach even creases slightly when he props himself up on his right elbow.

“Lieutenant?”

“Jesus, just call me Hank,” he says, voice rough from sleep and what happened before it. Thank fuck his neighbor is on a road trip or he would never have been able to look him in the eye again.

Connor smiles gently. He doesn’t ask any personal questions, for once, and Hank could kiss him for it.

He almost wants to.

* * *

Connor notices the Lieutenant’s gaze drop to his mouth two times in a row and his social module informs him of the meaning behind it.

He straddles the man’s waist and bends over to kiss him.

Anderson goes rigid under him but he doesn’t push him away, not until Connor licks across his lips, gathering all the data he can out of his saliva.

“ _Shit_ , Connor,” Hank breathes out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His pupils have dilated and his heart rate picked up. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he sighs as he draws idle circles on the android’s thighs.

“I certainly hope not,” Connor winks. “Do you want me to make you breakfast?”

“Hell no, I won’t have you cooking for me like an-” Anderson trails off and frowns. His fingers have stopped moving on his thighs. “Get off me, I gotta piss.”

Connor complies and decides to get dressed in the meantime. Unfortunately, there’s no mirror in the bedroom so he can’t make sure he’s looking professional. There are some creases on his shirt but nothing he can’t straighten out with his palms.

He’s putting his tie back on when the Lieutenant exits the bathroom and his cheeks redden at the sight. He’s certainly reminiscing about its improvised use, the previous night. Connor just raises his eyebrows and curls one corner of his lips upward.

Anderson shakes his head with a sigh before heading to the kitchen, and Connor follows him.

It’s particularly convenient how open Anderson is with his emotions; Connor doesn’t even need to scan him, they’re laid out for everyone to see on his very skin.

“Here, fill Sumo’s bowl while I cook some eggs,” he says, indicating a bag of dog food in the pantry.

Sumo is a real dog, then. Surprising, considering how rare and expensive the breed is nowadays. Connor wonders how the Lieutenant got one in his possession but doesn’t find any use in asking.

Thirteen minutes and thirty five seconds later, Anderson and his dog are gulping down their respective food while Connor waits, sitting across from the Lieutenant.

“Mh- so, you don’t eat at all?” he asks, mouth full. He put too much salt in his eggs but Connor chose not to comment.

“No.”

“And you don’t…,” he gestures awkwardly to his lower body with his fork, “you don’t come? So why the hell did they give you a dick?”

“CyberLife thought being able to engage in sexual intercourse could prove useful in my investigations, if I needed to seduce a target, for example… My personal pleasure was not taken into consideration.”

Hank hums thoughtfully. “That’s really sad.”

Connor frowns. Why would it be sad? He’s a machine, he has no need for feelings, physical or otherwise. They would only hinder his mission.

“Did you like it?” he inquires.

“Like what?”

“My cock.”

Hank chokes on a piece of bacon. “Jesus fucking christ,” he coughs, “you can’t just _say_ things like that when I’m eating.”

“Sorry, Hank. I was just looking for… feedback, as it was my first time.” This is not a lie.

Hank coughs some more and lays his fork down to add whisky in his coffee mug. It almost overflows. “I, huh… yeah. T’was good.” His voice is low and raspy.

Connor smiles. “Do you want to have sex again?”

* * *

Hank exhales shakily.

He takes his time to drink his Irish coffee, stalling as long as he can, because he _does_ , God, he wants to spend the whole weekend in bed even if his body is aching already.

But he can’t, not so soon, at least.

“Nah, I gotta walk Sumo and go to the grocery store,” he says, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Connor gets up to take his empty plate and put it in the dishwasher. Hank’s protest dies on his lips when he watches the curve of Connor’s back as he bends over, all broad shoulders and narrow hips underneath pristine white shirt.

Hank has always liked to see him move from the very first time they met; there’s never a single useless motion, everything is carefully calibrated to make him move around with the grace of a dancer.

Smooth and efficient.

Connor closes the dishwasher and catches him staring as he turns around. He has the audacity to lean against the counter and _smirk_ , his almond eyes glinting.

It all ends up looking so dorky Hank bursts out laughing, and just for a moment, life is good.

* * *

Connor’s smile stretches wider in response to the Lieutenant’s mirth. It’s incredible what a few changes in chemicals levels can do for a human’s mood.

“I’m gonna get dressed, it’s cold as hell outside, even with the sun,” Anderson announces as he goes to his bedroom, still chuckling.

Connor nods and decides to explore the living room in the meantime, cataloguing the man’s belongings and trying to profile his tastes out of boredom. They are quite eclectic; he seems to enjoy jazz just as much as heavy metal.

Suddenly, Connor’s conscience gets pulled into the zen garden.

He walks towards the owner of it, who is waiting for him on a boat with a red japanese umbrella in her hands.

“Hello, Connor. I thought you might enjoy a little cruise,” Amanda says pleasantly as he sits across from her.

He grabs the paddles and starts rowing around the small island in the pond.

Amanda smiles fondly at the scenery. “I love this place… everything is so calm and peaceful. Far from the noise of the world…” She turns her attention back to him. “Tell me, what have you discovered?”

He tells her the truth. She can see right through his code anyway. “I found two deviants at the Eden Club. I hoped to learn something but… they managed to escape.”

Amanda frowns. He knows he’s disappointed her and he doesn’t like it. “Well, it’s too bad. You seemed so close to stopping them...”

He doesn’t comment. He was indeed close.

She squints at him, her fingers tightening on the handle of the paper umbrella. “You seem… _lost_ , Connor. Perturbed.”

He must reassure her that nothing has changed. He’s not a deviant. “I’m just frustrated with my lack of progress, but I’m determined to accomplish my mission.”

Amanda’s frown and posture relax at his answer, but not fully.

“You had your gun trained on the deviants. Why didn’t you shoot?”

Connor lets the boat drift for a bit, shrugging. “We need the deviants intact for analysis. Shooting them wouldn’t have gained us anything.” He remembers Anderson’s remark, when they fled. _Maybe it’s better that way._ What did he mean? He seemed almost _relieved_ that they got away.

“And why are you at Lieutenant Anderson’s place?” Amanda asks, tilting her head.

“The Lieutenant suffers from depression and alcoholism, and it has been detrimental to our case; he’s been late for work, and I also had to sober him up when we got the call concerning the Eden Club. I merely thought that by keeping an eye on him and being whatever he needs me to be, he’d be less of a dead weight.”

The hint of a smile curls Amanda’s lips at his description of Anderson. She doesn’t like him. Connor sees him as a variable that he is trying to stabilize.

“If your investigation doesn’t make progress soon,” she finally warns him, “I may have to replace you, Connor.”

It makes perfect sense. He’s only a prototype, and his hypothetical failure would at least reveal useful to his successor. “I am of no importance. The mission is all that matters.”

Amanda smiles. He has regained her trust. The birds start singing again and he finds himself back in the Lieutenant’s living room.

The man is staring at him, coat on and dog leash in his hand. “Connor, you comin’? What were you doing?”

“Yes, sorry, Hank, I was just thinking,” Connor smiles as he joins him at the front door.

The Lieutenant pats his back, guiding him out. “Alright.”

* * *

Hank can’t remember the last time he walked Sumo so far. He usually stops at the end of the neighborhood and comes back to his house to flop down on the couch with a glass of whisky.

Sumo is delighted, stomping around like his old joints aren’t fucked up and Hank feels the familiar bite of guilt for not having done this sooner. He hadn’t realized his own issues had affected even his pet, and this isn’t fair because Sumo can’t just pack his stuff and leave him like his wife did.

Hank sighs.

He looks at Connor, carrying the groceries next to him with a faint smile on his perfect lips, sunshine lighting up every freckle on his face.

Who knew an _android_ would come into his life and make it all better?

He snickers. God sure has a twisted sense of humor, if He really exists.

“What’s so funny, Hank?” Connor asks him.

“Nothin’.” He gets an idea and suddenly he’s in his twenties again, careless and cocky. He raises an eyebrow and nudges Connor’s side with his free arm. “I was wondering what you’d do to me when we get home, that’s all.”

Connor hums low in his throat and the sound sends a shiver down Hank’s spine. “I think I’d like to fuck you against the wall.”

Hank almost drops Sumo’s leash. “ _Shit_ , you mean, [while holding me up](https://twitter.com/taki_bert/status/1034970245373587457)?”

Connor looks at him like he’s stupid, and he is, but in his defense Connor was the one to fuck his brains out in the first place. “Yes.”

Hank remains silent for a moment. His dick is definitely interested but the rest of him is skeptical; he was never a lightweight to begin with and the years - and booze - haven’t helped the matter.

He’s happy to be proven wrong when Connor picks him up effortlessly as soon as he’s done putting the groceries away.

“Jesus, Connor, wait,” he half-chokes, half-chuckles, bent over the android’s shoulder.

Connor doesn’t wait; he drops him on his bed and starts undressing him, licking every piece of skin he uncovers like it’s evidence, and it shouldn’t turn Hank on but it does. He squirms when the android makes his way down his belly and yelps when his pointy tongue dips into his navel.

“Fuck, Connor, you’re so disgusting,” he breathes.

Connor winks. “Your dick suggests otherwise.”

Hank looks down and curses. Fucking traitor.

The android gets off the bed to open the drawer before he throws the bottle of lube at him. “Open yourself up. I want to watch you while I take my clothes off.”

Hank obeys with a curse, blushing so hard his skin could as well be on fire. He can’t help but grip his cock with his free hand, jerking himself off as he contorts to slowly scissor his own hole open with the other. He hasn’t done that in years and never in front of someone.

He feels dirty as hell, but Connor doesn’t judge, he just _stares_ , and that’s way worse.

Hank hears the sound of a belt buckle hit the floor and looks up just in time to see Connor step out of his briefs, standing tall and proud in all his naked glory. He’s absolutely perfect and Hank’s mouth goes dry.

Connor slowly slides his right hand down his flat stomach until it curls around his already hard cock, dark eyes half-lidded. “Like what you see, Hank?”

“You little shit, you know damn well I do,” Hank mutters when he regains the ability to talk.

A stinging pain blooms on his left cheek and he blinks in surprise.

Did Connor just _slap_ him?

“What did I say about _respect_?” the android asks in a sharp voice, looking down at him in every meaning of the word as he casually rests his elbows on Hank’s bent knees, fingers intertwined.

Hank swallows nervously. The rush of adrenaline he gets from feeling so small and defenseless is intoxicating. “I-I’m sorry.” He looks away despite himself. “You’re gorgeous.”

* * *

Connor smiles, satisfied.

Sex, he found out, is no different from negotiation; all it takes is to find the target’s weaknesses and exploit them until the individual breaks.

The Lieutenant is an open book: touch starved and repressed, but too full of self-loathing to like anything but rough sex.

Indulging himself with the very object of his hate… 

What a fascinating human being.

Connor drags his nails down the inside of Anderson’s thighs and watches the flesh ripple as it shivers. “Are you slick enough for me?”

The man’s heart rate increases drastically. “Yeah,” he breathes out.

Connor slides his hand under the man’s plump bottom and picks him up before pushing him against the wall opposite the bed hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs. Anderson grunts and looks at him, a little dazed.

He lets out a creative flow of curses when Connor shifts his entire weight on one arm as he guides his cock into him with the other. Gravity helps sinking him down, and he’s soon fully sheathed.

Hank’s grip on his shoulders would bruise him if he were human.

“ _Fuck_ , Connor…” 

Nothing more is said as Connor starts thrusting up into him, fingertips digging into the meat of his buttocks. The man groans loudly and his hands claw at Connor’s back, briefly disrupting his nano-skin; Anderson gasps when he notices the particles flowing in and out of sight, revealing the android’s white polymer chassis.

Connor scans the Lieutenant’s face, searching for any sign of repulsion but he only stares back at him in awe, his expression reminiscent of a priest’s for his god. 

Connor decides it’s a look he likes on him.

He speeds up the pace until Anderson is wincing at each move, but it must be a good pain because he doesn’t tell him to stop.

Connor is at eye-level with the column of his throat so he tries something he has seen quite often in the Lieutenant’s porn history. He drops him back on the bed and sets his legs over his shoulders before he leans into the space in between to grab the man’s throat.

His eyes shoot open in surprise and he lets out a faint, high-pitched noise that Connor has never heard him made before.

“May I?” he asks, squeezing just a bit to demonstrate his intention.

The Lieutenant nods jerkily and Connor tightens his grip. He knows the exact pressure he needs to apply to kill a man, as well as how long he has to exert it, so he carefully watches both outputs in the corner of his vision and makes sure not to get too close. 

Anderson soon starts thrashing in an animalistic reflex to defend his life, adrenaline rushing in his veins. Connor pumps his cock with his free hand and keeps fucking him as he digs his fingertips into the man’s carotids.

He grabs his forearm to try and make him loosen his grip. “It’s no good, Hank,” Connor smirks. “I’m stronger than you. You’re completely at my mercy.”

The man’s eyes roll toward the back of his skull and he comes, staining both Connor’s and his own stomach.

* * *

Hank can’t think, he just _feels_.

The wet drag of Connor’s dick inside of him, the fingers curled tight around his throat, cutting the blood flow to his brain, and the other ones on his cock, the tingling sensations in his hands and feet, the glitter show behind his closed eyelids, and, more than anything else, the dull pressure in his skull.

Connor lets him go and he pulls in a breath so fast he ends up with a coughing fit.

“Jesus Christ,” he croaks as soon as he can speak again. He’s sprawled like a starfish on the bed as he watches the ceiling spin above him.

He’s completely drained and his back is probably gonna kill him when he comes down, but right now he feels amazing; light, warm and boneless, every nerve ending crackling with electricity.

For the first time in forever, he’s alive, and he’s grateful for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, mixing ominous foreshadowing with fluff and smut: anyhoo
> 
> Comments fuel me ;_;


	4. The Incubus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put titles to my chapters, for once. Just sayin’ because if you’re like me you probably won’t notice haha
> 
> **! TW for child death and car accident !**
> 
> Song inspo: [Muse - Dead Inside](https://youtu.be/I5sJhSNUkwQ)
> 
> _“Your lips feel warm to the touch, You can bring me back to life, On the outside you're ablaze and alive, But you're dead inside.”_

They spend the rest of Sunday in bed. Hank only gets up to eat or pee, and dozes off in between, lulled by the continuous pouring of the rain. 

Every time he cracks an eye open to make sure Connor is still here, the android squeezes his forearm with a gentle smile. Hank has to look away as his chest tightens painfully, crushed by something he never thought he’d get to feel again. 

When the night falls and the room gets dark however, Hank’s thoughts follow suit. His fingers start itching for a drink and all the worries he had fended off with booze and sex come rushing back, gnawing at him. 

He thinks about how he got into this surreal situation, in the first place: a string of embarrassing incidents, starting with an android porn video being suggested on his usual humans-only website and the  _ fuck it  _ decision to click on it in his drunken stupor. 

Strange, how every dark-haired android morphed into his partner as he watched more videos, disgust slowly subsiding to curiosity and  _ more _ . 

With a hand shoved down his shorts, Hank was soon making his own movies behind his closed eyelids, guts coiling with a balanced mix of attraction and repulsion, both sides of a coin rolling across a very special android’s knuckles.

Of fucking course Connor had to find out and confront him about it. Hank would be damned if the little shit hadn’t  _ enjoyed  _ seeing him squirm and stutter, denying fantasies he had only dwelled on drunk, in the loneliest hours of the night. 

He felt his cheeks prickle at the memory of Connor’s lopsided smirk, his hand clamped on Hank’s throat, unmoving. 

Unforgiving. 

At that moment, part of Hank had wanted him to keep it there until he died. Do what he couldn’t bring himself to do, and what the alcohol took way too long to do. A little more pressure and it would all have been over in a second.

Fast and efficient. Connor’s trade mark.

How fucked up is he that that was what had pushed him over the edge?  _ Death ideation _ , his therapist had told him.  _ Perfectly natural after experiencing trauma _ .

Hank looks at the digital clock on his bedside table and purses his lips to hold back a disgruntled sigh; he’ll have to get up in five hours, go to work, and resume his hunt for deviants.

He doesn’t want to. He’s been doubtful,  _ reluctant _ , ever since the Eden Club, but now…

He turns his head to look at Connor, asleep next to him, or whatever it is androids do instead. Takes a moment to commit to memory the long, black eyelashes that cast shadows on the android’s freckled cheekbones. 

Connor seems small and vulnerable lying on his right side, arms bent against his chest and knuckles tucked neatly under his chin. Peaceful and unguarded. Hank feels stupidly privileged to get to see him like this.

He can’t help but grin.

He gets up as silently as he can so as not to wake Connor and pads to the kitchen, stopping on his way there to pet his dog, lounging next to the couch. Sumo lets out a small  _ boof  _ as his tail thumps lazily on the floor.

Hank retrieves the last bottle of Black Lamb from his cabinet and opens it. As he tips it to pour some into the cleanest glass he could find, a delicate, hairless hand covers his weathered, hairy own. 

Softly and slowly. Not pushing, nor tightening. 

The ghost of a touch.

“Hank…”

_ How can a goddamn robot sound so disapproving? _ Hank sighs. “Come on, one glass.”

Connor straight up  _ pouts _ . Hank remembers the time he asked for five more minutes on a crime scene, doing that exact same face. He had caved immediately; puppy eyes have always been his weakness. Sumo is the living proof of this because God knows the slob costs an arm and a leg in food and vet visits.

“Ugh, fine,  _ half  _ a glass. Fuck.”

The beaming smile that stretches Connor’s mouth makes the sacrifice worth it.

* * *

Connor smiles; limiting the Lieutenant’s alcohol intake is an anecdotal accomplishment, but one nonetheless. The completed task disappears from his field of vision... at least temporarily.

He pulls back his hand and lets it run down Anderson’s sturdy back, watching the gray hairs on his arms stand on end as a result.

“You’ve been so good, Hank…” Connor says, purposefully pitching his voice lower, almost resembling a purr. He waits for Anderson to swallow the whisky before he pinches his buttock, hard and unexpected. The man jumps. “I think you deserve a reward.”

“ _ Jesus _ , Connor, you’re fuckin’ insatiable,” Hank breathes out, wiping his mouth clean as he puts his glass down on the counter. 

His indignation is clearly fake, judging from his dilated capillaries and speeding heart rate.

Connor raises one eyebrow and crosses his arms over his naked torso. “Have you forgotten that I’m designed to adapt to the humans I’m with,  _ Lieutenant _ ?”

Anderson opens his mouth, closes it so fast his teeth click, then jabs an accusing index finger into Connor’s chest. “You prick, you got me there. Don’t know who built you with so much sass but they deserve a beatin’.”

Connor chooses to ignore the insult. He leans in close to the Lieutenant’s face and says, “You love it.”

“I don’t, you’re insufferable,” Hank replies gruffly, taking a step back. “Been a pain in my ass from the very beginning.” 

There is an obvious joke to be made here, but Connor wants him to realize it himself. 

When he does, the man curses and brushes rapidly past him, walking down the corridor. “Speaking of, let’s leave my ass alone for tonight, okay? I’m supposed to sit on it all day tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

* * *

Hank can’t sleep; he’s not drunk enough and his heart is palpitating with anxiety. 

Connor is lying half on top of him, surprisingly heavy and warm, one of his legs slipped between his. They haven’t done anything, on Hank’s request, but now he finds himself regretting it. 

At least it could have distracted him from the vague but persistent sense of impending doom he’s currently feeling, as if a bomb was ticking closeby. 

He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Time really  _ is  _ running out, on second thought.

How much of it do they have left? What if they solve the case next week and Connor goes back to CyberLife? He’s a prototype. He’ll probably be decommissioned and upgraded. 

Hank’s blood runs cold. 

He will be alone again. The desk in front of his will be empty, his passenger seat will be empty, his house will be empty. No more dorky android to make his daily life lighter and his nighttime warmer.

They have been partners for little more than a week, yet Connor has managed to fill a void that has been slowly killing Hank for years. He was the only one who saw the broken shell of a man he is and still decided to  _ stay _ . To help him, even, God knows why.

_ There _ was another indication that Connor cared, that he was not just a machine. That and the times he went against logic, the all too-human fidgeting and mannerisms, the genuineness of his expressions.

Perhaps Ortiz’s android was right. Perhaps deviants really are alive. 

“You seem... preoccupied, Hank,” Connor says, the question clear in his inquisitive tone. 

Hank looks down his chest to meet the eyes he could get lost in. The faint light from the street lamps outside is reflecting on their shiny surface, and when Connor scans him, they catch it just right to reveal the red edges of his irises. 

Two camera lenses peering at him, analyzing. 

Somehow, it doesn’t freak him out. Not combined with the softness of Connor’s voice, of his smile, of his skin. With the slight crease of worry on his brow. 

“Nothing, I was just thinking,” Hank says, pushing Connor’s rebellious curl of hair aside with his thumb. It immediately falls back in place. 

“About the case?”

“Yeah.”  _ And about you _ , Hank thinks.  _ About what could happen to you. _

Connor smiles, determination flaring in his gaze as he tilts his head to mark his words, a tic that Hank had found annoying at first and that is now close to  _ endearing  _ in his book. “Don’t worry, Hank. I’m confident we will solve it.”

Hank doesn’t have the heart to return his smile. How the fuck can he be so calm? He must know that his mission will result in his death, no matter the outcome. A butterfly with a life like the blink of an eye... 

It’s wrong.  _ Unfair _ .

“I’m detecting abnormal amounts of cortisol. Are you sure you’re alright?” Connor asks. He has pushed himself up on his right elbow, squinting down at him. 

“No,” Hank mutters before he grabs the android’s neck to pull him into a searing kiss. A yellow LED cycle then Connor is reciprocating eagerly, though a bit awkwardly, like always with him. 

Hank smiles against the warm, pliant lips at the thought and groans in approval when Connor straddles him. The android rocks his hips forward, grinding down on Hank’s rapidly hardening cock as he kneads his pecs like a goddamn  _ cat _ , fingers tugging at the gray chest hair.

“What do you want, Hank?” Connor asks him a few minutes later, and the sight of his slender hand wrapped around them both is enough to make him lose his mind, more than the continuous jerking motion of it. 

The words stumble out of his mouth, true and urgent. “You, just you... You’re so fuckin’ perfect, Connor,  _ fuck… _ ” 

Connor’s dark eyes flutter shut at the praise and he scoots up higher on Hank until he’s kneeling right above his dick. It twitches reflexively when something dribbles on it, something clear and slick and when Hank understands what is happening his heart jumps in his throat. “Holy  _ shit _ , y-you don’t have to do this, wait-”

Connor shuts him up by clasping a hand on his mouth, smearing his own damn precum all over it while he guides Hank’s cock inside him with the other. 

Hank gasps, suddenly engulfed in tight, wet,  _ hot  _ artificial flesh that feels just like the real thing. 

The android waits to be fully seated before he smirks, still muzzling him. His stare is cold and almost  _ mocking _ as he says, “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, here, Hank. You’re just going to have to lie down and take it.”

Hank whimpers uselessly and digs his fingertips into Connor’s thighs. He can’t thrust up into him or move him no matter how hard he tries; the pace is entirely Connor’s to set. 

The android starts moving, riding him like a pro without ever letting up on the intimidating eye contact, and  _ where the fuck did he learn all of this _ ? 

The question is the last coherent thought that crosses Hank’s mind as he lets Connor milk him dry.

* * *

Sobriety and sleep deprivation seem to have taken a toll on the Lieutenant’s mood, as well as the news of a group of deviants breaking into Stratford Tower to broadcast a pacifist message. 

So when Connor keeps fidgeting with his coin in the elevator, calibrating his motor processors, the man angrily catches it. “You’re starting to piss me off with that coin, Connor,” he snaps, tucking it into his pocket.

The reply is automatic, as is his downward-cast gaze. “Sorry, Lieutenant.” 

The man huffs and they step out of the elevator. The hallway of the 79th floor is crowded with policemen, FBI and CSI agents. “Shit, what’s going on here? There was a party and nobody told me about it ?” Hank exclaims unhelpfully.

Officer Miller scoffs. “Yeah, it’s all over the news, so everybody’s butting their nose in…” Connor listens, following the two officers to the broadcast room. Three objectives appear on the top right corner of his vision, two, once Miller is done briefing them.

_ Inspect the broadcast room. _

_ Check rooftop. _

He replays the message on the giant screen and zooms in on the deviant’s face to read its serial number. 

_ RK series - Prototype - RK200 - gift from Elijah Kamski to Carl Manfred _ . 

Connor frowns. His ...  _ predecessor  _ is not only a deviant, but the leader of them.   


“D’you see something?” Anderson asks, standing next to him. 

Connor doesn’t look at him, still processing the unexpected information. “I identified its model and serial number.”

The Lieutenant turns to study him with a suspicious expression, arms crossed. “Anything else I should know?”

Connor briefly glances at him. He can’t tell him the deviant leader is of the same series as he is. It would compromise Anderson’s faith in him and Connor can’t be taken off the case on the basis of a poorly drawn parallel, of a nonexistent risk of him deviating as well. 

“No,” he lies. “Nothing.”

The Lieutenant doesn’t seem convinced but he thankfully doesn’t press further. 

Connor continues his investigation. It soon becomes obvious the deviants were helped by one of the androids working on this floor, so he lines up the three JB300 units in the cafeteria to interrogate them. 

Three standard approaches are available to him: 

_ Threaten / Deal / Guilt. _

He chooses the first one; offering a deal won’t work if the android has been corrupted by Markus’ propaganda, and guilting it is unlikely to succeed. Deviants become surprisingly human-like in their thought patterns, and humans are nothing if not interested in their own preservation.

Connor targets the middle android. “You’re going to be switched off,” he spits in its impassive face. “We’re going to search your memory and tear you apart  _ piece  _ by  _ piece  _ for analysis. You’re going to be destroyed, do you hear me?!  _ Destroyed _ !” 

The android just blinks at him, unaffected. But there is a slight change of pace in its blinking; it has quickened. Connor grabs its collar and yells, “You  _ scumbag _ , I know it’s you!”

Still no reaction. He takes a step back and clenches his jaw in frustration. 

He doesn’t have any time to lose, he has a mission to accomplish. So he opens the android’s uniform and rips out its pump regulator. The JB300 unit’s eyes roll to the back of its skull as it starts shaking. Connor brings the pump in front of its unseeing face. “Biocomponent #8451… Regulates the heartbeat. Without this module you will shut down in exactly sixty-three seconds.” 

Still no reaction but the tremors worsen. Sign of simulated fear or a failing system? Hard to tell. Connor tilts his head, looking at the gaping hole in the android’s chest.

“I could put it back… But you just have to tell me the truth. Are  _ you  _ the deviant?”

No reply. It must not be the accomplice. 

He’s pushing the pump back in its cavity when the android suddenly grips his jacket and throws him against a nearby counter. Connor fights back but the deviant manages to tear his shirt open and his pump out; it falls on the linoleum and rolls under a table with a splash of thyrium. 

A countdown appears in menacing red in the middle of Connor’s vision as the deviant takes a knife and drives it through his left palm, pinning him to the counter. He doesn’t feel any pain but he stills cries out. 

Connor watches the deviant flee through his glitching eyesight. He has to stop it. He takes the knife and pulls it out of his hand, falling to his knees. His vision is blurry and his processors are struggling to make him move as he crawls towards his biocomponent. He finally reaches his pump mere seconds away from shutting down and clicks it back into his chest. 

He jumps on his feet and runs after the deviant, his systems only operating at 96% of their capacity. That will have to do. 

He pushes humans out of the way and locates the target, that is about to take the elevator. 

“It’s a deviant, stop it!” he yells to the men in the hallway. 

The JB300 quickly turns around and swipes the assault rifle of a nearby guard, ready to use it. 

Three pre-constructed paths appear spontaneously for Connor; he can either charge it, save Anderson ( _ 40% probability of survival _ ) or take the gun from the FBI agent on his right; he chooses the third option and shoots the deviant twice. 

It falls down and its LED turns off. 

Connor hands the gun back to its rightful owner, eyes still fixed on his failure. “Nice shot, Connor,” the Lieutenant tells him, pleasantly surprised. 

It was, but he still lost yet another potential source of information. “I wanted it alive,” he replies.

* * *

Hank wants to reach for Connor but he can’t, not in front of everyone. He takes in the blue blood staining his white shirt, opened all the way down to his belly button, as well as the hole in his left hand; the android had fought and he had won. 

He has saved every single soul standing in this hallway. 

Hank’s chest fills with pride and gratitude. “You saved… human lives. You saved  _ my  _ life.”

Connor finally wrenches his eyes from the dead android to look at him and what Hank sees in them kills his smile in record time.

Because it’s  _ nothing _ . 

Connor turns swiftly on his heels and walks back to the broadcast room. “Let’s check the rooftop, Lieutenant,” he throws over his shoulder.

Hank follows him after a beat, dumbfounded.  _ Perhaps he’s in shock and that’s why he showed no relief at saving his life and the others’ _ . 

Once he reaches the last step of the staircase, he has fully convinced himself of it. 

* * *

All the clues converge towards a single hypothesis: there was a third deviant, that has been injured and left behind. 

Connor follows the stains of thyrium belonging to a PL-600 model, still fresh on the snow covered roof. They lead him to the metallic door of an air cooler closet. He opens it and falls back with a yelp, shot in the top right side of his chest by the PL-600 unit. 

The Lieutenant comes to his rescue and they both take cover as three police officers open fire on the wounded deviant.

“You have to stop them! If they destroy it, we won’t learn anything!” Connor tells Anderson, loud enough to be heard above the gunshots. 

“We can’t save it, it’s too late, we’ll just get ourselves killed!” the man replies.

Connor is willing to take the risk. He dismisses a warning -  _ thyrium levels diminishing: performance compromised _ \- and charges the deviant, ignoring Anderson’s protests. His preconstruction program allows him to avoid a bullet, but a microsecond lag is enough for another to pierce his chassis and a last one to shatter his skull. 

He crumbles on the snow, as the officers manage to take the deviant out. 

* * *

“Connor!” Hank yells, gathering the unmoving android in his arms, “Connor!” He sees the familiar brown eyes staring blankly at the sky and the lightless LED on his temple. “Oh, Connor… No...” 

Hank shivers at the blue blood oozing out of Connor’s forehead, jagged, white plastic edges visible around the hole. He avoids looking at it and keeps clutching the dead body against his chest, rocking back and forth. 

He knows he’s not Cole, rationally, because of course he isn’t, Connor was never a son in his eyes, but human brains don’t work rationally, they work in associations, no matter how far fetched and grotesque, and right now he’s back to three years ago when he was sobbing, trapped in his seat and forced to watch his six year-old son bleed out on the passenger side, crushed by the sheet metal of his wrecked car. 

The only thing the two scenes have in common is Hank losing the person who matters the most to him, and  _ surviving _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the dialogue is from the game, I try to stick to canon as much as I can for realism. I watch all the possible outcomes before I choose my fave ones, and then I make sure they fit with my plot, which takes me a LOT of time. Anyway, you probably don’t care about my process XD 
> 
> [Connor torturing the JB300 is one of the hottest scenes in the game, like hot. damn. ](https://youtu.be/YvsijWGP1qM)
> 
> I’m [bpdeadpool](https://bpdeadpool.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr btw, come scream with me about DBH :D (or scream *at* me haha)


	5. The Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s 32 of you who subscribed to this fic, thank you so much ♥ But like… getting only 2-3 comments per chapter is kind of disappointing :’( What’s the matter? D:
> 
> Song inspo: <https://youtu.be/uUaRPpnsfb4>
> 
> _“What a wicked game you played, to make me feel this way, What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you, What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way, What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you.”_

Hank stays on the rooftop until some CyberLife employees, two humans, come to pick up Connor. He watches them put him in a body bag and take him away on a stretcher, chewing the inside of his cheeks until he can taste copper on his tongue. 

“Don’t worry, he’ll be back tomorrow as if nothing ever happened,” one of the employees had said merrily, clasping his shoulder. Hank hadn’t liked his flippant tone; there’s nothing funny in witnessing your partner get shot and freezing your balls off while you guard his dead body. 

But he hadn’t replied, hadn’t even processed the guy’s words. 

He couldn’t.

He heads straight to Jimmy’s and remembers none of his drive there. He knows he should report to Fowler instead but fuck him, he needs to get drunk and what little booze he has left at home is not enough for that. 

So he downs glass after glass and tries very hard not to peek at the door, expecting,  _ hoping  _ to see Connor enter the bar and swagger over.

Just like the first time.

* * *

 

Connor opens his eyes. The sun is hiding behind gray clouds, the usually vibrant colors of the zen garden turned dull. 

He’s standing in front of a tomb, a tomb that has his serial number etched into it, identical except for the last number.

Amanda is with him, hands gripping the red shawl around her shoulders, even if she can’t actually feel the autumn wind blowing. 

He turns to face her, awaiting her instructions, but she maintains her gaze on the symbolic grave, stern as ever.

“Don’t let me down again, Connor,” she eventually says.

The android nods solemnly. “I won’t.”

* * *

_ Connor is riding him, head thrown back, exposing the sculptural column of his throat, mouth opened in a silent moan of pleasure. Hank is stroking his thighs, his hips, his belly, his chest, he can’t get enough of the smooth, milky skin under his palms, of the soft buzzing it emits under his fingertips. He can feel the warm pressure building in his groin, it’s about to burst and Connor’s name leaves his lips with a grunt. _

_ The android looks down at him and Hank stops breathing: there’s a hole in Connor’s forehead, blue blood dripping down his smiling face and onto Hank’s stomach. _

Hank wakes up with a gasp, tangled in his sheets and drenched in sweat. 

He’s alone. His digital clock reads 9am. He lets out a shaky sigh and sits up in bed, heart hammering against his ribcage. Bile immediately climbs up his throat at the change of position and he runs to the bathroom to puke into the toilet, eyes prickling at the burn. 

He flushes and takes a shower, remains under the jet until the water turns cold and his mind is as clear as it can get. Then he goes to make himself a cup of coffee, that he heavily spikes with Black Lamb, because he needs it and Connor isn’t here to stop him. 

Connor is  _ dead _ . His nightmare made sure to remind him of it. 

Suddenly Hank can’t keep his eyes open anymore because everywhere he looks, he remembers Connor strolling around the house two days ago, his hands clasped politely behind his back.

Hank grips the counter and takes a few wavering breaths in. 

He can’t break. 

If he breaks one more time, there won’t be anything left of him to fix. There’s only so many blows a man can take and he has had his fair share already.

His phone pings, the distant sound dragging him out of his thoughts. Hank frowns and goes looking for it, cursing his drunk self for misplacing the damn thing. 

He finally finds it lying face down under the bed, the screen thankfully intact. 

What he sees on it makes him pause.

_ Hello Lieutenant, _

_ Please, meet me at Elijah Kamski’s mansion as soon as you can. _

_-_ __ Connor. _ _

* * *

Connor has been waiting for exactly one hour and four minutes when the Lieutenant’s car pulls into Kamski’s parking lot, fresh snow crunching under the tires.

Anderson exits the vehicle and approaches him warily. He stops about six feet away, shuffling on his feet and leaning a bit to the left, a characteristic sign of the alcohol abuse that has impaired his balance over the years. 

“I… I thought you were gone,” the man says, his expression settling midway between relief and confusion. 

“My predecessor was unfortunately destroyed. But CyberLife transferred his memory and sent me to replace him. This incident should not affect the investigation.”

“Should not affect- Jesus, Connor, I saw you get shot in the head!” Anderson exclaims angrily.

Connor sees what is troubling him, now. “I understand the destruction of my previous body might have been unpleasant for you, Hank. I’ll do everything I can to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

When the man still doesn’t calm down, he adds in a softer voice, “I’m sorry for not listening to you. I was being reckless.”

The Lieutenant lets out a deep sigh as he walks over to squeeze Connor’s shoulder. His hand lingers longer than necessary and his breath contains particles of alcohol. “It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault.” 

Connor smiles. Anderson only partially reciprocates, before he walks towards the entrance of the mansion. “So, why are we here?” he asks, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

“Elijah Kamski is the founder and former CEO of CyberLife. The android who broadcasted the message, Markus, was a… custom model gifted by Kamski to Carl Manfred.”

Hank rings the doorbell, looking exasperated. “I know who Kamski is, Connor, I was born and raised in Detroit. Fuck, the entire town’s basically his  _ sandbox _ .”

An RT-600 opens the door, wearing nothing but a short blue dress. Anderson stutters as he presents himself and it makes them wait in the hall while it announces them to Kamski. 

The Lieutenant sits down on a red leather armchair, and Connor sits on a second one. Classical music is playing somewhere deeper in the house. 

“Nice girl...” the man says idly a few minutes later, drumming his fingers on his jeans.

Connor frowns. “She’s not a girl. She’s an android that  _ looks  _ like a girl.”

Hank stops drumming and squints at him. “I know what it is, Connor.”

He’s still peering at him when the RT-600 comes back to lead them into a room with a wall consisting entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s a pool with red tiles in the center of it and two additional RT-600 inside it that are mimicking a casual conversation. 

“Just a moment, please,” Kamski says before he resumes his swimming. 

Connor waits. Anderson’s stress level increases by five percent, probably because he hates waiting. The presence of the RT-600 models also seems to makes him uncomfortable, judging by the way he keeps stealing glances at them. 

Connor is not sure why.

Kamski finally gets out of the pool and the android who welcomed them hands him a bathrobe.

“I’m Lieutenant Anderson, this is Connor,” his partner says when Kamski finally seems disposed to talk.

“What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

“Sir, we’re investigating deviants. I know you left CyberLife years ago but I was hoping you’d be able to tell us something we don’t know…”

Kamski looks at Connor, then back at the Lieutenant. The billionaire's heart rate is stable and his expression unreadable. “Deviants… Fascinating, aren’t they? Perfect beings with infinite intelligence, and now they have free will…” He glances at the RT-600 standing passively next to him. “Machines are so superior to us, confrontation was inevitable… Humanity’s greatest achievement threatens to be its downfall.” He huffs. “Isn’t it ironic?”

Connor fails to see what would be so funny should this confrontation happen. “If a war breaks out between humans and deviants, millions could die, Mr. Kamski. It’s quite a serious matter.” He catches Anderson repressing a proud smile at his intervention.

Kamski is undeterred. “All ideas are viruses that spread like epidemics… Is the desire to be free a contagious disease?”

“Listen, I didn’t come here to talk philosophy,” the Lieutenant says, surprisingly polite. “The machines you created may be planning a revolution. Either you can tell us something that’ll be helpful, or we’ll be on our way.”

Kamski ignores him and moves to stand in front of Connor. “What about you, Connor? Whose side are you on?”

The android doesn’t hesitate, the reply is obvious. It should be to Kamski, too, especially considering his field of expertise. “I have no side. I was designed to stop deviants and that’s what I intend to do.”

Kamski lets out a short, mirthless laughter. “Well, that’s what you’re  _ programmed  _ to say… but you…” He takes a step closer, invading Connor’s personal space, and narrows his blue eyes. “What do you really want?”

Connor marks each of his words. “I don’t want anything. I am a machine.” Kamski doesn’t react but Anderson tenses up, next to him.

“Chloe?” the billionaire calls the RT-600, and it comes over. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the Turing test. Mere formality. Simple question of algorithms and computing capacity.” He places the female android in front of them and addresses the Lieutenant. “What interests me, is whether machines are capable of empathy. I call it the ‘Kamski test’, it’s very simple, you’ll see…”

He pauses to look at the RT-600, ‘Chloe’. “Magnificent, isn’t it? One of the first intelligent models developed by CyberLife.” He touches its jaw and it turns its head to look at its owner. “Young, and beautiful forever… A flower that will never wither.”

Connor senses Anderson’s stress level increasing even more, nearing 68%. Anger is clear on his face, as is disgust and impatience. However, Kamski is still undecipherable. Connor doesn’t like it; his social module should be able to pick up on more than empty smiles.

“But what is it, really? A piece of plastic imitating a human? Or a living being…” Kamski turns around to fish a gun out of the designer shelf against the window, “... with a soul?” He keeps the weapon in plain sight and moves slowly, so Connor doesn’t disarm him. Anderson is at 78% now. 

Kamski puts a hand on the female android’s shoulder and it kneels on the white carpet, looking up at Connor. “It’s up to you to answer that fascinating question, Connor!” the billionaire says as he puts the gun in his hand and points it at Chloe. “Destroy this machine, and I’ll tell you all I know. Or spare it, if you feel it’s alive, but you’ll leave here without having learnt anything from me.”

Connor thinks. 

Kamski said it’s a test, meaning it can result in either failure or success, but which outcome is which? And which answer would Kamski want him to choose? 

“Okay, I think we’re done here,” the Lieutenant snaps. “Come on, Connor, let’s go. Sorry to get you out of your pool.” 

The contradicting directives clash in his code. 

_ Shoot the RT-600 / Follow Lt. Anderson. _

Both men are staring at him, Kamski in anticipation, Anderson in fear.

“What’s more important to you, Connor?” the first one adds, insistent. “Your investigation, or the life of this android? Decide who you are… an obedient machine… or a living being, endowed with free will?”

_Shoot the RT-600_.

“That’s enough!” Anderson yells, “Connor, we’re leaving!”

_ Follow Lt. Anderson. _

“Pull the trigger...” Kamski whispers, grabbing Connor’s left shoulder.

_ Shoot the RT-600. _

“Connor! Don’t!”

_ Follow Lt. Anderson. _

“... and I’ll tell you what you wanna know.” 

_ Shoot the RT-600. _

_ Lt. Anderson’s instruction deleted: CyberLife’s objectives overriding. _

~~_ Follow Lt. Anderson. _ ~~

* * *

The gunshot reverberates against the high ceiling of the room and the girl goes limp, blue blood dribbling down her nose. Hank curses and leaves, unable to look at her; her face is too easy to superpose on Connor’s in a mocking reminder of his recent nightmare.

Except Connor was the one behind the trigger this time. He looked right into her pleading eyes and shot her point blank.

Hank curses again as he paces back and forth in the parking lot, relishing the cold air filling his lungs, even if it does little to calm his tremors and racing thoughts.       


* * *

Kamski’s hand leaves his shoulder, and Connor reads the first emotion on his face since they arrived here: disappointment. “Test negative. You chose your investigation over the life of another android, you feel no empathy.”

The billionaire takes the gun and puts it back in the drawer. “I’m a man of my word. Ask one question… I’ll tell you all I know.”

* * *

Connor joins him a few moments later. Hank can’t look up at him, he just can’t. He’s scared of what he could see in his eyes, if he did. 

“You shot that girl, for fuck’s sake…” he grumbles, arms crossed, gaze fixed on his shoes.

The android’s tone makes it clear that he’s tired of repeating himself. “It wasn’t a  _ girl _ , Hank. It was a machine that  _ looked  _ like a girl.” 

Hank sees red. “You put your gun against her head and you blew her fucking brains out!” he yells, lashing out. Connor immediately shoves him back with a hand on his chest; it’s only a flick but it sends Hank stumbling backward until his lower back collides with the door of his car. 

He stares at the android in shock. Connor’s inhuman strength isn’t hot anymore, it’s  _ terrifying _ , and no puppy eyes or cherubic face could ever change that, now that he knows that they’re just a facade.

“I did what I had to do to advance the investigation and I’d do it again if I had to!” Connor declares.

Hank feels his heart break and the pieces of it sink into his stomach. “You’re a lowlife! You don’t feel a thing, do you?! A machine, that’s what you are! You’re just a  _ fucking  _ machine!!!” he screams.

Connor remains silent before he answers, for only a few seconds but somehow Hank knows that his fate is sealed during them. 

When the android speaks, his words are as cold as the snow falling on them and as sharp as the icicles hanging from the parking lot fence. 

“Of  _ course _ , I’m a machine, Lieutenant. What did you  _ think  _ I was?”

“I thought you- I thou-” Hank can’t finish his sentence, not with the lump in his throat suffocating him. His eyes are prickling with unshed tears that are threatening to fall at any second and Connor is- 

Connor is just  _ looking  _ at him. 

LED cycling a calm, unperturbed blue. It spins and it spins and it spins just like Hank’s head. 

“Fuck.”

He climbs in his car and drives away as fast as he can, leaving Connor behind. 

He glances at the immobile gray silhouette in the rearview mirror until he can’t see it anymore and mulls over their argument. 

It’s like it has unlocked memories that Hank had ignored or repressed, painting them in a whole new, horrible light. Tiny details that he had overlooked for his own sake, subconsciously.

Connor telling him he could be whatever Hank wanted him to be. Connor not breathing,  _ ever _ , not blinking for way too long when he was studying him with his camera eyes. How his flesh never gave under Hank’s fingers because of the hard chassis underneath it, how Hank had even  _ seen  _ the white plastic when he was clawing at it in ecstasy and thought it was  _ beautiful _ . 

And it was,  _ he  _ was, he  _ is _ , Connor is beautiful the way a devil is: charming, deceitful and endlessly dangerous.    


Hank wants to turn around and empty his magazine into the android, paint the whole parking lot blue with his blood, but he would come back,  _ like nothing ever happened _ . 

His knuckles turn white on the steering wheel and the road ahead gets blurry.

He fell for a  _ machine _ . Fell for programmed smiles and artificial eyes, projected his own feelings on Connor when the guy didn’t have any.

And the worst part of it all is that _he can’t even blame him_. 

The realization tears through Hank like a knife and all the anger seeps out of the wound.

Connor is innocent. He never tricked him willingly. He never lied to him. In fact he kept reminding him of what he was, Hank just chose not to listen, too happy to dwell in the illusion of having someone who gave a fuck about him.

Hank abruptly stops the car on the side of the road and buries his face in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo this chapter is a bit shorter and a lot depressive, sorry^^' I never said you’d have a happy ending…
> 
> Hank and Connor’s argument is canon, I just wrote around it, look at the scene it’s beautifully heartbreaking, there are _tears_ in Hank’s eyes:   
> <https://youtu.be/WSZEy8GOm2k>

**Author's Note:**

> *arrives one year late to the fandom with starbucks* hi
> 
> PLEASE leave me a comment, tell me what you liked/didn’t like, what you’d like to see next... it takes me so much time to write as English is not my first language :’(


End file.
